Somewhere Only I Know
by brightorbit
Summary: What happens when Elizabeth Bennet appears in your bathroom? A new heroine from W6 embarks on a journey to deepest, darkest Hertfordshire.
1. Jane

JANE

No matter how much she resisted this part of the story was always going to come. She started paying attention to the scenery; an arrangement of trees seemed familiar. She couldn't stop herself now, even as the end rushed towards her like a tide: the house drew her inexorably.

* * *

_'_Did you bring it?_'_

Jane pulled the DVD out of her bag.

'Thank God.'

Sitting on Lucy's sofa was like being swallowed by a bed of dough.

'I need medical attention,' said Lucy.

A half-bitten piece of chocolate flew across the room.

* * *

It was two in the morning. She insisted on leaving even though it was late, after the stuffiness of the flat it was a relief to breathe the night air. She liked walking the streets at this hour. Her head was clear, along with the air, crystalline and lucid.

Darcy and Elizabeth.

Does that kind of love exist?

You're an adult: you're a realist. Jane had lost her heroic qualities of childhood. Back then she was still pirate queen and astronaut and time-travelling lover of a powerful king. She still longed to _live, _whatever that meant. No, she hated that word. It patronized people who led supposedly 'ordinary' lives. And Jane fancied Elizabeth Bennet would have done very well for herself married or not, she was a heroine through and through.

_Oh you needn't worry about _me.

Jane resisted the urge to improvise a full-blown conversation.

_But..._

NO.

All these years she had the same friends, the same problems and the same dull feelings. She wanted to feel strong emotion, good or bad, something to distinguish one day from the others. She'd never loved. She loved her family, of course. But the love she craved was different - the end of the world love, the precipice love, the choking love - which was embarrassing. Childish. People like her shouldn't hope for it.

Jane. Do me a favour. Shut up. And not that you need reminding: it is your fault. You don't pursue anything.

Thanks, brain.

On the bus Jane went through a list of things she was be grateful for and after a while felt much better.

* * *

A bright sun shone through the living room window. Jane was stretched across the sofa in what felt like the most comfortable position in the world, revisiting the fictional hedgerows of the Bennet household after many years. A looming deadline prowled at the back of her mind. There was nothing heroic in the way she was shirking her duties, Elizabeth Bennet would have just got on with it. Resign yourself to a life of quiet desperation Jane, 'tis your fate.

The phone rang.

'You awake?'

'No, I'm fast asleep.'

'How's Lucy?'

'In hospital, judging by the amount chocolate she ate yesterday.'

'A night of vigorous exercise is just what she needs then.'

'You're going to say Paste aren't you?'

* * *

Jane watched the drunken ape-men with a dispassionate eye. This was the last time she was going to Paste. Lucy made sure Pirhana took enough photos of her looking happy, veering on the demented. Facebook would do the rest.

'He's going to weep when he sees how happy and liberated I look.'

Lucy was quite drunk.

'Yeah, that's Tom all right,' said Pirhana, giving Jane a look, 'sensitive.'

* * *

No one needs to hear sounds of movement coming from inside their house when they should be the only ones in it. This also applies to ground-floor maisonettes. The day after Paste was a Sunday. After a late lunch with her mum Jane resumed her favourite position on the sofa and was soon among the fine denizens of Hertfordshire once more.

But there were sounds of movement inside the flat.

Certain that Farah, her flatmate, hadn't returned from Scotland, Jane listened more carefully. Grabbing the nearest hard object, a mug, she stepped quietly across the living room to the bathroom door. She gave it a hard shove and jumped back brandishing the mug like a weapon, ready to stamp the words BRAINBOX into intruder foreheads, given they weren't tall, or strong, or anything other than a smallish woman.

Light from the living room flooded into the bathroom.


	2. A Bennet in the Bathroom

A BENNET IN THE BATHROOM

Jane should have jumped out of her skin. A woman in white stood ghostlike on the linoleum.

'Who are you?'

'Miss Elizabeth Bennet.'

A pause.

'So who's joke is this?'

'Oh no! I am part of no trickery. At least, not to my knowledge...'

'How did you even in get in here?'

The woman took a step forward. Two bright eyes became brighter.

'There is a door in the attic portion of my father's house, which is a place unvisited except by servants and myself. Were this door to open, which it does not, it would give upon the empty air four stories high, for there is no room beyond. One may not pass through it, try as one might. Until tonight.'

The door in question stood between the sink and bathtub, a design quirk from when the house was originally built. It probably hadn't been opened in decades.

'That leads into the side-alley,' said Jane.

'But it is the way I entered, assuredly.'

Jane looked at the door, then at the woman. There was a quick way to resolve this.

'Show me.'

As the woman turned the handle, something like hope twisted in Jane's stomach. Dark angles grew against the checkered floor. Jane's heart made a flying leap. A corridor, stretching perpendicular across where the side-alley should have been, stood in muted light.

'Lizzie!'

They both jumped, a voice called from inside.

'I should go, they may come looking for me. Wait! Forgive me, your name?'

'Jane,' she replied automatically, her brain buzzing with the impossibly of what she was seeing.

The woman smiled, 'That is my sister's name.'

With that, the door closed and the bathroom re-established the impression of conformity with the ordinary laws of physics. Jane waited a minute, and tried the handle again. It wouldn't budge.

* * *

Bodies swayed and pressed tightly from all sides, someone's elbow was digging into her back but Jane was light years away.

There were two explanations. The psychological one and the one involving a complete overhaul of everything humanity knew about time and space. She knew what she ought to believe. Yet... Yet she felt completely lucid during yesterday's encounter. You're talking about _time travel_, said a modicum of common sense as she stepped off the train. Exactly, _time travel_. Just another day in the thrilling life of Jane Snowe, ladies and gentlemen. It wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility, was it?

Her head was never so clear and light, the previous day's incredible events had knocked all the fog away. At work, the once intimidating task of requesting an extension from her boss was performed peaceably, and probably for that reason, successfully. She floated around with bright eyes and a general air of contentedness, all the decisive hallmarks, according to the self-proclaimed posh bastard of the office, of a 'damn good seeing to'. People in publishing could say things like that. Even the rain had a strange quality to it that day, like mist and not cold. Jane walked through it illuminated by the secret she carried.

As an experiment that evening she recreated the conditions leading up to yesterday's encounter, taking up her old position on the sofa with the book in hand.

An hour ticked by. Time inevitably slowed. Words like 'lightning' and 'strike' arranged themselves into dispiriting sentences.

Oh ye of little faith. Jane looked up, chucked the book, rushed to the bathroom and switched on the light.

Elizabeth Bennet blinked.

Jane stepped forward, 'You don't mind if I - ' and gave her arm a squeeze.

'Flesh,' said Elizabeth, nodding. 'Like you. I have many questions. Where am I?'

'London.'

'And the year?'

'2012.'

'Impossible!'

Jane nodded.

'No one's ever proved that time travel is possible. This is...mad.'

'I thought as much, you looked as surprised to see me as I was to see you.'

'Let me get this straight, you said you were Elizabeth Bennet?'

'That is my name.'

'And you have sisters?'

'Yes, four in total.'

'Jane, Mary, Kitty, Lydia?'

The woman's eyes widened. 'Madam, you astonish me. How could possibly know?'

Jane heard the collective spirit of every Jane Austen fan boom the words: _p__roceed with caution._

* * *

She peered into the corridor.

'I'm not dressed properly.'

'You can borrow my things.'

A warm glow came from the stairs on the landing. A single candle stood on a slim table nearby. Jane's boot made a resonant click on the 19th Century floor.

'I have told father that you are visiting,' said Elizabeth. 'You are an old friend from the Abbey School.'

She touched the walls, feeling the texture of the old wallpaper. The air was different here. Somewhere a door opened. It took a second for Jane to realize where it came from. She turned quickly to warn Elizabeth of her flatmate's imminent appearance. At that moment a draught slammed the door shut, the dark halo of Elizabeth's look of surprise hovered briefly in front of her vision.

After a few seconds, Jane un-froze. No biggie, she thought, I'll just... The handle was stuck, like the time she tried in the bathroom.

Bollocks.

Bollocks to the power of ten.

Stronger expletives were deployed producing no effect. Ditto rigorous twisting and shaking of the handle. Ditto prizing the edges of the door with her fingers. Eventually footsteps came running up the stairs and a stout woman appeared on the landing.

'We heard a lady calling Miss Elizabeth's name,' she said. 'You must be her friend. If you don't mind me saying, ma'am, I can't see what you're doing up here. These are the servants quarters.'

'I, er, got lost.'

The maid gave her a queer look.

'Allow me to show you down, Miss.'

Seeing that she couldn't insist on loitering in the dark corridor of the servants quarters, Jane followed. As a child, she would have given anything to escape dull, ordinary reality. This was not ordinary. As she started down the stairs into the warm light, Jane went headlong into the unknown.


	3. Longbourne

LONGBOURNE

Light played on the ceiling. Thoughts and images focused and Jane became more alert. She glanced around the room. She was still in the 19th Century. That was the good news. The bad news was that she was still in the 19th Century.

Early 19th Century mores meant that young, unmarried ladies didn't just up sticks to London on a whim without a chaperone. The previous day Elizabeth informed the family she was going to Jane's house in London. Without ordering a carriage or packing her trunk she then disappeared and Jane materialized in her place. The family were confused, concerned and in the mother's case, alarmed.

'Hair, free-flowing, not a single ribbon or ornament to tame some modesty into it. A plain dress, and picture this my dear, with the hem ending _one inch above the knee_! That was exactly my reaction, Mrs Lucas. And boots! Black boots! What could she mean by it? But what am I to do? Her family are to provide for all of Lizzie's expenses in London! Oh, indeed! But is it sensible?'

* * *

Jane trod carefully along the corridor, she should have kept her boots off. Good thing it was still early and there was no one about. With her hand on the handle, she took a deep breath and... Still no luck. Ideas rushed into her head. On both occasions Elizabeth walked through the door between seven and eight o'clock. So, timing. And what are the chances that Elizabeth Bennet walks into her bathroom just as she's reading Pride and Prejudice? There must be a psychological connection. Which sounds ridiculous. _Ahem_. Everything that has happened up to this point has been ridiculous. Fair enough. Jane closed her eyes and tried to form a clear image of the bathroom in her head. Sink, mirror, cabinet, large sponge that no one used, socks on the radiator... Once she could hold it there, she twisted the handle again.

Okay.

_There's no place like home._

_There's no place like home._

_There's no place..._

A door did open in the corridor, and a man stepped out of it.

'I heard noises, ma'am,' he said, peering into the gloom. 'That door opens into the air, it's always locked.'

Jane blurted out an excuse and walked past trying to look natural. To her embarrassment, on the way down she crossed the same maid who found her yesterday in the corridor coming up the stairs. The maid gave her a look of open surprise.

Servants quarters. Got it.

* * *

All except Mr and Mrs Bennett were having breakfast in the parlour. The room was flooded with light.

'I hope you had a pleasant sleep,' said Jane, smiling.

'Miss Snowe, I must ask,' said Lydia. 'Your dress, is it what is current in London?'

'It's popular in...Hammersmith,' Jane replied.

'We are starved of fashion here, s'all,' said Kitty.

'We have no need of it here,' said Mary.

'For once your right, Mary.'

'_I_ should like to go Hammersmith forthwith,' said Kitty.

'You shall do no such thing!'

Mrs Bennet blustered in the room.

'Oh I suppose it is all right for Lizzie to whizz off to London without a moment's notice,' protested Lydia. 'Papa has no scruple about that.'

'You will not want to go to London once I've told you the happy news,' said Mrs Bennet. 'Listen to this: your father did call upon Netherfield, but two days ago.'

Excitement circulated the table.

'We must enlighten you, Miss Snowe,' said Jane, looking amused. 'Netherfield Park, which lies four miles from here, has a new tenant, we are told a young and handsome gentleman.'

'With five thousand a year,' said Lydia.

'Four or five thousand,' corrected Mary.

'No one likes a pedant, Mary!' said Kitty. 'Either way, he is rich.'

'Well _I_ care not for money,' said Lydia, 'The man I marry must be handsome.'

'It is most gratifying for a parent to see that his child has learnt to covet beauty over fortune,' said Mr Bennet, entering the room. 'I believe our work here is done, Mrs Bennet. We can now send Lydia off into the world where she may marry a most comely buffoon and be prettily destitute for the rest of their lives.'

'Miss Snowe,' said Lydia. 'I ask you to be the judge of my father's scoldings.'

'You feel wrongfully treated?' asked Mr Bennet.

'No... Except I do not have enough fingers to count the number of times you call me 'silly' in a day.'

'But here is a rare glimmer of hope,' said Mr Bennett. 'I am astonished and overjoyed that my words have made the slightest impression on your conscience amidst the intimidating whirl of officers and bonnet trimmings. Strive hard to emulate your sisters, Jane and Lizzie, and I may one day think of something else to call you in excess of ten times a day.'

'What's Mr Bingley like?' asked Kitty. 'Is he as handsome as everyone says he is?'

Mr Bennet looked grave, 'I am afraid he has a face only a mother could love.'

'Oh, Papa!'

* * *

Mr Bennet's study was a cosy place full of dark woods and intellectual greens. Books lined the walls from top to bottom and a lived-in armchair, also green, was positioned near the fireplace.

'I realize you are blameless in the matter, Miss Snowe, and I apologize for the line of enquiry you have been subject to since your arrival. You are, of course, a most welcome guest at Longbourne. It is upon Lizzie who we shall heap the blame for offering so few details about your arrangements. Do stay however long you wish until you are fully recovered, the London air gets to one's constitution, I know, I always feel out of sorts after a visit. If you would give me your address, I will write to the enigma herself.'

She was actually getting away with it. The 21st Century girl, with the 21st Century clothes and the smell of 21st Century shampoo in her hair was getting away with pretending to be a 19th Century girl in 19th Century England. Time traveling wasn't a concept yet so together she and the Bennets rationalized an explanation for how Jane as an entity came to exist in 19th Century Hertfordshire.

Eccentric but rich parents meant an unorthodox upbringing, hence the various social shortcomings and general ignorance. Elizabeth invited Jane to spend time in Longbourne in order to recuperate after a bout of ill health. Elizabeth had taken nothing with her to London because everything would be provided for her when she arrived including new dresses and the like. Jane's own trunk was coming.

Alternative explanations were equally less convincing so the Bennets took the story on face value.


End file.
